


Le Petiet Mort

by MurielJones



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gun Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurielJones/pseuds/MurielJones
Summary: Gun play, the gun is loaded, the safety is off.





	Le Petiet Mort

Gun metal really isn't just a shade of grey, it's a distinct taste, of the barrel of revolver inside my mouth. 

I swipe my tongue around the tip of the barrel, and then suck slowly, up and down, slowly, that's what he wanted. I know he wouldn't hurt me. He watches me with such intensity. There isn't a smile on his face, there often isn't when we do this. I know it's loaded, I saw him do it. He runs the tip across my pallet. I feel the fear in my crotch; do other people feel fear this way? I want to open my mouth, push the barrel out with my tongue, and ask him to stop. But instead I sink back. My bladder feels full, I know it isn't, I become too aware of my ass. He pushes me on my back by shoving the gun barrel against the roof of my mouth. Its natural cold is slowly warming from the heat of my mouth. I'm half hard, embarrassed by my growing erecting. My tongue is sticking because my mouth is dry. I try to chew to create more saliva, I swallow. He takes the moment to push the gun further down my throat, the butt against my lips, one wrong move, I swallow again, he asked me to deep throat it last time, I think it's what he wants this time. He clicks the safety off. I like to watch his face when we do this, but I can't, not like this. He usually doesn't take the safety off, he usually doesn't shove it down my throat over and over again, I want to push it away but the safety is off. I can't speak, I can't move, I can't find a way to move myself backwards. I'm hard now, I feel pre-cum at the tip of my cock. I feel the center of me, when did I develop a center? become cold. I am shivering. He pulls the barrel back and swirls it around my mouth again, I follow it with my dry tongue, dipping my tongue into the opening, he likes that with his cock. I want to lick my lips.

Spencer is beautiful naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, gun barrel playing between his full, lovely lips. I would kiss those lips if it wasn't so fascinating watching him suck off the gun. Every time we go a little further. I hold my breath, there is a tight feeling in my chest, I remember loading the gun, it just seems so distant. I hope that's what he wants. I feel the muscles around my eyes tighten, my every muscle tingles, my cock tingles, my every move is precise. I think about Spencer's lovely ass, about shoving the loaded gun into it over and over, he could tell me the statistics on Russian Roulette, would I ever be brave enough to pull the trigger? My thoughts are crisp and focused; my breathing has slowed down to long slow, too long, drawn out, stroking breaths.

Right now I push him backwards, nudging him the revolver in his mouth. He knows the safety is off, his eyes are wide, he is trying to swallow, his mouth dry with fear. I straddle his naked body. I force the barrel deep into his throat as he swallows, then I fuck his face with the damn gun. I can see him growing hard, I can feel his breath held, and then in short sharp gasps through his nose, choking through his throat. He is starting to sweat. I don't know if he likes this; I do know he is terrified. My palms are wet on the gun, the loaded gun, with the safety off, shoved down the throat of the man I love. I feel tears in my eyes, I blink them away.

"Prepare yourself." Snapped out, harsher than I intended, at Spencer.

Spencer would be moving around—gun in his beautiful face--ready to go off at a single mistake. I swirl it around the inside of his mouth. "Fingers in yourself, and fuck yourself."

His voice sounds far away as he tells me to fuck myself. My hands are limp and un-coordinated. I struggle to reach down to touch myself—my hands shaking along the way, feeling cold, feeling as though they are made out of cotton wool. "Focus" I try to whisper and bang the gun against my pallet with tongue. Bile reaches up in my throat, taste mixing with metal, I want to bring my head it, but the gun could go off. Forcing the bile down makes my throat burn, and adds the illusion of the gun's taste in my throat metal and oil and residue—just like I can taste Aaron when I suck him off. I think I'm going to throw up. I smell fish-guts, I want to struggle up. Don't move I tell myself. I try and bring my mind back here—I can breathe. My cock is still hard. He is straddling me, I want to push up for contact I daren't move. I can feel the tears I can't stop running down my face.

But he has told me to fuck myself. He takes the gun out of my mouth and runs it along my jaw line, touches my Adam's apple, up behind my ear, he pushes hair of my face, and tucks it behind my ear. My eyes follow the gun. I bring my fingers to my lips. Aaron shakes his head. He is looking into my eyes with a fierce intensity, I know why men tell him the truth just to get him to stop. He smiles brilliantly, and then just as suddenly he seems to remember where we are and his smile fades. He looks into my eyes and I reached to my own hole, and push one, two, three fingers in, hurt myself, he's going to hurt me next. I grind my teeth together; I feel the burn of pain in my ass, and the burn of anger. My breathing is shallow, 42 breaths per minute, too high, focus. He's going to hurt me.

I play the gun around Spencer's face, I push his hair out of his eyes with the revolver, I wish I was kissing the smooth skin, kissing the lids of those doe eyes, pushing his soft hair back carefully with my fingers, run the gun behind his ear where I can imagine marking the skin with my teeth. He breathing is starting to even out. He is hard, and hot, I want to grab his cock and make him come. I want to slowly prepare his ass, gently, with lube smoothing the way, finding his sweet spot, stretching him one finger at a time. 

I tell him to fuck himself with his fingers. I push his fingers away from his mouth; I make him open his body up dry. I slip a condom on, just a little lube, don't want to rub myself raw. I move myself down to settle between his legs. I place his gun, loaded, safety off, on his chest as I settle into place. I jerk his fingers out, I line myself up, and push myself in. He gasps. I pull him against me with one hand, and pick the gun up with the other. The heat is already forming in my groin, my breathing is changing, my heartbeat changing. I push harder. He grimaces, I can tell that I am hurting him, he is still hard. One slip on that gun, pick it up and push up against his Adams apple, heal of my hand resting at the top of his sternum. I can feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

One slip, we can't afford to play this game. But I keep going. 

Aaron lifts the gun and points it suddenly at my face, straight at my forehead, he pushes the barrel against me, his hand clumsy from fucking and ecstasy leads the gun over my face. I can feel my heart pushing against my chest, there is a skip in the beat. I can hear my own blood in my ears, drowning out other sound. I gasp as he brushes against my sweet spot. I know I am helpless. His face is focused, almost hard, in spite of the pleasure that is driving him now. I look at his face, willing him to open his eyes. I can't cry out. He moves his hand with the gun from my throat down next to my right ear, so he can support him self with that hand, the barrel of my gun against my jaw, he is getting close, I think his finger is still on the trigger. His thrusts are uneven. I can feel his hand tightening on my hip. I want to turn and look at the gun, I don't.

I am aware of how desperate Spencer is. I know that my fucking him is hurting him. I know that he is afraid, he has let his fear show on his face, I know he opens his eyes, he needs to see me know that he's here with me, think he is safe. As safe as you can be when you can feel a gun at your head, held by a man who is rapidly losing himself in fucking your sweet ass. I hold myself in check, I am stronger than him, I don't need to use my strength to hold him down, but my free hand does, I know that once the adrenaline is gone I will regret that, but for now, I need to hold on, to finish this. I need him. 

I feel heat at my center, coiling in my groin, everything is black and intense, and gone, and light, and for a moment I am floating. 

"I'm sorry" I gasp out.

I feel Aaron's arms around me as he awkwardly works to unload my gun and set it on our dresser. He is stoking my hair as I cry, I can't help crying. I lay soft and helpless, completely trusting, in his arms. We are both alive. 

I wish I didn't need this, I wonder if one day he will be brave enough to pull the trigger.


End file.
